


Take a Picture (It'll Last Longer)

by carnationsandrobots



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Slice of Life, SpaceMarriedWeek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnationsandrobots/pseuds/carnationsandrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven snapshots of Kanan and Hera's life aboard the Ghost. Written for #SpaceMarriedWeek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Least We Can Do

“Kanan, I’m fine.”

“Hera,” Kanan looks up from working the straps on her shoulder pad to look her pointedly in the eye, “in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been shot.”

“Actually, I have noticed, as it kind of hurts. Rather a lot. But it’s just a graze and I’m perfectly capable of basic first aid. Mission’s done, we got the data, so you can go -” she stops to hiss with pain as Kanan succeeds in undoing all of the straps and removes the pad, bits of burnt flesh coming with it. She’s probably going to have to end up replacing both of her uniform’s should pieces, given the unlikely chance of finding a match for the undamaged one. “-Do something else,” she finishes, lackluster.

Kanan ignores her completely, focusing on her shoulder. “Your sleeve’s basically ruined. We’re going to have to cut this part off so we can clean the burn.”

“Kanan -“ Hera starts, exasperated.

“Hera.” Kanan sighs, looking up from his search for scissors in the medkit. “Let me help you, okay? If nothing else, it’s easier to tie off a bandage with two hands instead of one.”

 He does have a point. Still, Hera can’t help but put forth one last, token protest. “You really don’t have to.”

“Hey.” Kanan smiles at her before inspecting the top of her sleeve again, scissors in hand. “Least I can do for a fellow crewmate.”

“Oh,” Hera says, smiling a bit, “I think that’s a bit lacking in, hmm, decorum? Or actually: respect for the chain of command. Calling your Captain a ‘fellow crewmate,’ that is.”

“Oh yes, I suppose it was a bit brazen. Rude.” Kanan returns the joke, but with a distracted air as he starts cutting carefully at her sleeve. She winces as the part fused to her skin is jostled. “And here I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice me pushing the boundaries of our professional relationship.”

“No such luck.” Hera winces again as Kanan finishes his careful cutting at her sleeve.

He puts the scissors down and looks at her again. “This next bit’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

“Sure you don’t want painkillers?”

Hera grimaces. “They won’t do much for a blaster burn. Just do it.”

Kanan nods, all traces of earlier joking gone. Then he peels away the burnt clothing.

It does hurt. But it’s not like Hera hasn’t experienced worse.

Her arm throbs as Kanan puts the scrap of cloth in the biowaste bag. He makes short work of putting on the bacta patch and wrapping her arm, tying off the bandage with a neat bow.

“All done.” He says, a ghost of a smirk running across his face as he cleans up the medkit.

Hera looks at the bandage as he stands up and makes to leave the room; it is much more neatly tied than she could have done one handed.

“Thanks,” she says.

Kanan looks back at her, one foot out the door. “Least I could do.”

He walks away, her door swishing closed behind him automatically.

It’s been a long time since Hera’s had anyone around to help her the way Kanan has in the last few weeks. But she thinks she just might be able to get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 1 of Space Married Week (Healing). Don’t remove fabric sticking to your skin after a burn. Handwavey excuse about bacta changing how first aid works in the Star Wars universe.


	2. Keeping the Romance Alive

“You know, this isn’t quite what I meant when I said I thought we should spend some time alone together,” Hera murmurs.

“Really?” Kanan chuckles lightly in her ear, “And, let me guess, it _wasn’t_ your fault we just happened to run into one of the leader of one of the galaxy’s most prominent crime syndicates, best known for their close dealings with our dear, old Empire.”

“Actually, I think crime syndicate is inaccurate since the Emperor’s basically given them free reign. Technically, we’re the ones breaking the law here. And, no, it is definitely not my fault they decided to hit up Val’s the same night we did.”

“Oh, good, otherwise I’d think you’d tried to trick me into a _very_ boring, nightlong stakeout in a cramped closet.”

“Trust me, dear. I would love it if one of nights out wasn’t interrupted by-“

“A mad rush to smuggle some innocent Mon Calamari dissenters offworld? Where was that again, it was just after Sullust-”

“Bpfassh. And that was _definitely_ your fault.”

“Hey that’s – actually, you’re right, that was completely on me.”

“It really was.” Hera stretches her back out as much as the space will allow, pulling her shoulders together slightly. They’re pressed so tightly together the small movement doesn’t fail to jostle Kanan before Hera settles back against his chest again. She exhales softly in amusement. “Though as bad as Bpfassh was, at least I didn’t have to worry about either of my feet falling asleep then.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the nice thing about running for your life: no foot cramps.”

“Say that again in five hours when the coast is clear.”

“Point taken. But let’s try to be optimistic: at least we’re stuck in a closet together this time.”

Hera rolls her eyes but smiles just a bit fondly. “Not the first time, love. And, however unfortunately, I’m sure it won’t be the last either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 2 of Space Married Week (Alone Time).


	3. And So We Bare Our Souls

Hera shivers, lekku twitching slightly. Kanan’s hands brush across her bare shoulders and down her back, his lips pressed against the base of tchun. She closes her eyes, bracing herself for a moment before she opens her mouth to speak.

“I was thinking –“ she starts, and Kanan gives an attentive hum, pressing a kiss to her temple now. She pauses a minute to appreciate the feeling of his lips against her skin before continuing. “I was thinking about the Twi’leks we rescued from the slave auction on Malastare last week.”

Kanan steps back, just a little bit, enough that she can see the self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “So that’s what you think about when we’re half naked together?”

Hera rolls her eyes, a sour taste welling around a bitter joke: “Actually, it is a bit related to that.”

Perhaps Kanan sees the bitter twist to her lips or hears a discordant note in her voice. In any case, his eyes take on a serious cast as he waits for her to continue.

“The Twi’leks we rescued, at the auction they were permitted to keep their clothes. Well, maybe not _their_ clothes. But they were allowed to wear something to cover their bodies.”

Hera pauses, swallowing hard around her unpleasant memories. She’s committed to telling him this, has been meaning to bring it up somehow all week since having that ugly part of her past shoved so abruptly in her face during their last mission. And yet, there’s still a part of her that desperately wants to forget that chapter of her life ever happen, to burn away the horrible images that still sometimes seep into her dreams. A part of her that cringes at the thought of relating any piece of it to Kanan.

But ultimately, she wants him to know this about her. She wants him to love her with this knowledge. So she braces herself, and lets the words spill from between her lips.

“The first time I was sold, I was completely naked.”

Kanan reacts, but only slightly, hands tensing where they rested on her shoulders, eyes filling with – compassion. Hera sees compassion, and concern, and patience as he waits for her to continue, but not pity or disgust.

She lets out a breath, relief spreading when that subconscious fear is not realized, and permits herself to relax into his arms, head resting on his chest, and pours out her memories.

“I was – It was terrible. I was very young, maybe eleven or twelve. It’s hard to remember exactly when anything happened; Ryloth fell to the Empire so quickly, and then my family and I were on the run…”

She tells him – not everything, but more that she’s ever told anyone before. It’s more freeing than she realized it would be; she welcomes the unexpected catharsis.

When she finishes, they stand in silence, Kanan rubbing small circles onto her back.

After a moment, Kanan says quietly. “Thank you. For telling me all of that. For- for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Hera pulls her head back to look at him. “Thank you for listening. I- well, I’ve made my peace with a lot of it by fighting against the Empire, but. So much of the shame never goes away. It was nice to be able to tell you without feeling that.”

Kanan swallows thickly, averting his eyes. “I’m not – I’m not ready to tell you. Everything that happened to me, after – well. I don’t want you to think. I trust you, but I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Hera levels a steady gaze at him. “I will _never_ expect you to do something you’re not ready to do. I didn’t tell you everything expecting… reciprocity. I just, I reached a point over the last week where I needed you to know.”

Kanan closes his eyes. “Thank you,” he says again.

Hera considers the sad curve of his lips. She decides that the Empire has given that downward curve to too many people.

And then she pulls him into a kiss, rolling his lips between her teeth.

There are things she’s not ready to tell him yet either. Definitely not the fact that she loves him. But Hera clings to the hot rush that follows, wise enough to savor the moments she can in a galaxy filled with so much pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 3 of Space Married Week (Shopping). Definitely not the happiest interpretation of “shopping,” and also a day late, whoops


End file.
